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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957536">my calamitous love &amp; insurmountable grief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanFairytale/pseuds/GallifreyanFairytale'>GallifreyanFairytale</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Love Poems, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Poetry, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:08:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanFairytale/pseuds/GallifreyanFairytale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Zuko accidentally finds a collection of poems written by Sokka, and he's not sure whether to be more upset that Sokka would throw his poems away or that said poems are what sounds like all the makings of a tragic love affair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>935</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>my calamitous love &amp; insurmountable grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i saw <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bleekay/631656601990873088">this post</a> on tumblr and immediately dropped all of my other wips to write this</p><p>title from the lakes by taylor swift</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> <em>star-crossed</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> star-crossed and worlds apart </em>
</p><p>
  <em> we’re our own Great Divide: </em>
</p><p>
  <em> you, with flames in your heart </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and me, on broken ice. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> wish that i could hold you close </em>
</p><p>
  <em> see you smiling like the sun </em>
</p><p>
  <em> fueling your breath as it goes </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ev’ry day a battle won. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> i know you can’t feel the same - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> our worlds never meant to touch - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> but despite your worldly fame </em>
</p><p>
  <em> you’re the only hand i clutch. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> star-crossed and worlds apart </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i know we cannot be: </em>
</p><p>
  <em> you shaped the world’s restart </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and i am only me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> by: Sokka </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b><em>ZUKO</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Zuko has a very good reason for digging through the trash.</p><p> </p><p>He’s pretty sure he remembers swiping a pile of scrap paper into his trash can, not realizing that Uncle’s most recent letter had been sitting at the bottom of the pile. He’d looked through every paper and scroll in his study and his bedroom, and the letter was nowhere to be found, which meant it must have gotten thrown away.</p><p> </p><p>Which is why Zuko, fully decked out in his Firelord robes and hairpiece, is currently digging through the trash. And this is also why Zuko, curious as he is, gets distracted when he notices a pad of paper, bound by string, with Sokka’s name on it. Temporarily abandoning his search for the letter, he picks up the - journal? sketchbook? - and stares at it.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka must have thrown it away on accident, same as Zuko had with Uncle’s letter. The cover page is just Sokka’s name with a couple doodles near the bottom which Zuko isn’t sure he can interpret. One is probably a boomerang, and one looks vaguely similar to a turtleduck.</p><p> </p><p>The sketchbook - because Zuko is pretty sure it’s filled with similar doodles to the ones on the cover - looks handmade, which isn’t surprising when it comes to Sokka. He could’ve gone out and bought something nicer, with a leather cover, or he could’ve asked Zuko to buy one for him, promising to pay him back via a portrait or something. (Zuko didn’t need a portrait, but he would’ve let Sokka draw him anyway if he asked, despite Sokka’s art skills being questionable at best.) But this was Sokka, and he probably saw that he had a bunch of paper he wasn’t using and decided to just make his own sketchbook because he did things like that. He was always working on some sort of invention, and most of them made Zuko’s head spin, but he listened to Sokka’s explanations anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko flips to the first page and is surprised to see words instead of drawings. Maybe it’s just old meeting notes Sokka doesn't need anymore? But no, on closer inspection, the words seem to be separated into specific lines and stanzas--</p><p> </p><p>The realization crashes over Zuko like a tidal wave.</p><p> </p><p>It’s<em> poetry</em>.</p><p> </p><p>As if Sokka couldn’t get any more perfect, he apparently had taken to writing poetry, or maybe he always had written and kept it a secret. Which meant Zuko was probably not meant to see these words or even know Sokka had written them, but the literature nerd inside Zuko had won before Zuko could even consider the ethics of reading your best friend’s poems he never talked about writing.</p><p> </p><p>It takes less than a stanza for Zuko to realize that these are <em>love poems</em>. He briefly considers the theory that they're about Yue, but no, the poems are written in present tense. Zuko feels his stomach twist harshly. Sokka is in love with someone.</p><p> </p><p><em>Someone who isn't you</em>, Zuko's mind helpfully points out. Because it's one thing to be aware that Sokka could never reciprocate his feelings, but to hold a journal full of poems confirming that not only does Sokka not like Zuko back but is also head over heals in some sort of star-crossed love with someone else?</p><p> </p><p>And yet, Zuko can't stop reading. He makes it through the first four poems before his hands slam the journal shut, finally realizing that he should <em>not </em>be reading this. (Not to mention the fact that he still hasn't found Iroh's letter and he would prefer his guards not catch him digging through the trash.) He looks down at the journal. He has to return it to Sokka, there's no question about it, even if that involves admitting to Sokka that he read some of the poems.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>midnight in the south</em></b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> your fire lily eyes </em>
</p><p>
  <em> reflect the midnight sun as </em>
</p><p>
  <em> we wish Time loved us </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> stuck in between our </em>
</p><p>
  <em> two diff’rent realities </em>
</p><p>
  <em> what if i love you? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> the spirits view love </em>
</p><p>
  <em> as a matchmaker’s play thing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i hate them for it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> by: Sokka </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>SOKKA</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Zuko walking into Sokka’s room at any hour of the day wasn’t out of the ordinary in any way. Sokka did the same to Zuko, and the guards knew not to bother with asking unless Zuko had specifically instructed that he didn’t want to be interrupted.</p><p> </p><p>What <em>was </em>out of the ordinary was the look on Zuko’s face, somewhere between betrayal and admiration, which was a strange mix in and of itself, but it was even stranger on Zuko. There were very few people Zuko had such mixed feelings towards - he generally was either annoyed by someone or would give his life for them without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you throw this away on purpose?”</p><p> </p><p>Only then did Sokka’s gaze drop to Zuko’s hands, which were holding the journal Sokka had made specifically to write down bad poetry and then throw it away before anyone found out about his new hobby. It wasn’t that Sokka was embarrassed of writing poetry; it was the fact that if his friends knew, they would want to read it, and the subject of the poems was… obvious, to say the least.</p><p> </p><p>And he was also the one standing across from Sokka, holding the journal, and the tone in his voice led Sokka to believe he’d at least read a few of the poems. Hopefully the less obvious ones? Or else Sokka was going to have to get real good at coming up with fake interpretations of his own poetry real fast.</p><p> </p><p>“Um. Yes?” Sokka wasn’t going to pretend he was any good at writing poetry. Sure, he’d skimmed several poetry collections and tried to mimic some of the techniques he saw, but he’d mostly taught himself the rules of different poems via textbooks from the library in Ba Sing Se, and he wasn’t convinced he taught himself right. The poems weren’t supposed to be <em> good</em>; they were supposed to help Sokka get over his crush.</p><p> </p><p>Which is why Sokka had dumped the journal in the trash; to symbolize that it was <em> over</em>, he was <em> done </em>letting himself be hung up on someone who couldn’t love him back, and it was time to move on.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Why</em>?” Zuko looks down at the journal in his hands. “I know I probably shouldn’t have read them - I only read a few - but these are <em> good</em>, Sokka. <em> Really </em> good.” He looks back up, and his face falls. “The ones I read were sad, though. Whoever they’re about… they’re lucky. And they’d be stupid to not feel the same.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. <em> Oh? </em>What.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe the poems weren’t as obvious as Sokka is remembering? Or maybe Zuko has him so far in the friendzone that despite the obvious, he would never peg Sokka as the type to even be able to develop feelings for him. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you?” Sokka refrains from ripping the journal out of Zuko’s hands and dumping it in the trash with a lit candle before Zuko has a chance to realize that <em> whoever they’re about </em> is <em> him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“How long have you been writing?”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka shrugs. “A couple months? I had a run in with a poetry… club, maybe… back when we were in Ba Sing Se, and I was decent at it. Until I got my syllable count wrong and they kicked me out.” Sokka smiles sheepishly. “Anyway, I just felt like I needed some way to express my feelings, you know? And I’m not exactly <em> great </em>at art…”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko holds the journal out, and Sokka takes it from him. “Sokka, poetry <em> is </em> art. Just with words instead of pictures. I think you should keep these. Or maybe… give them to whoever it is they’re for if you don’t want to keep them, but they don’t belong in the trash.” Zuko’s eyes have a sad sort of look in them, and Sokka really wants nothing more than to drop everything to write a poem about how he looks right now, smiling and sad at the same time, telling Sokka his poems are <em> good </em> and telling him to take a chance and confess his feelings.</p><p> </p><p>He wouldn’t be saying that last part if he knew, though. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>wish you were mine</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> zenith stars will lead you home </em>
</p><p>
  <em> under cloudless skies we roam </em>
</p><p>
  <em> kiss me through the autumn gloam </em>
</p><p>
  <em> our love red in blue monochrome </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> by: Sokka </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>ZUKO</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>“Which ones did you read?” Sokka questions. Zuko tries not to wince at the question. He <em> knew </em>he shouldn’t have read them. They were clearly pretty personal and dealt with feelings Sokka wasn’t comfortable sharing out loud with anyone. Or at least, not with Zuko.</p><p> </p><p>“Just the first four.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka flips open the book, eyes scanning the pages. He remains neutral for the most part, though his mouth will occasionally dip into a frown or his eyebrows will furrow for only a moment. Zuko just watches him, fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe. “I’m really sorry for reading them,” he says, because he just realized he never actually apologized. “Like I said, I know I shouldn’t have, I just… I really like poetry and I got curious. That’s not an excuse, though. Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s fine,” Sokka replies airily, like he didn’t even register what Zuko just said. That doesn’t make Zuko feel any better. Sokka looks up. “You actually liked them?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko nods. “Yes!” They really were good poems. They might have made Zuko feel sick because they were clear evidence Sokka was very in love with someone who wasn’t him, but Zuko can separate those feelings from the quality of the poems themselves.</p><p> </p><p>“And you didn’t…” Sokka lets his voice trail off. One of his hands moves in a circular motion, letting Zuko know he’s trying to figure out how to phrase his question. “You didn’t think they were too, I don’t know, <em> specific</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>That’s an… odd question to ask about poetry. “Poetry doesn’t need to be vague,” Zuko tells him instead of offering an actual answer, because truth be told, he wasn’t expecting to be asked for a full-blown analysis. He’d give Sokka one if that was what he wanted, but it would probably take a few days to write between all of Zuko’s other work that was <em> technically </em>more important. “You’re allowed to write about specific things or vague concepts or anything in between.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right! But it wasn’t, like… recognizable moments?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko blinks. “What?” How would he be able to recognize specific moments referenced in Sokka’s poems if he hadn’t been there to witness them? As much as it pained Zuko to think about, any specific moments referenced in the poems he read were clearly about private moments between Sokka and whoever he was in love with.</p><p> </p><p>“Never mind! Never mind,” Sokka shakes his head. “Just-- just forget I asked. That was a stupid question, sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t apologize. It’s fine to ask what people think about your poetry.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka’s eyes widen. “Zuko, wait. Have <em> you </em>written poetry before too?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-- I--” Zuko sputters, trying desperately to think about anything besides the poems he may or may not have written about the person standing across from him, holding a journal full of love poems about <em> someone else</em>. “No.” Zuko silently curses at how strained his voice comes out.</p><p> </p><p>“Tui and La, you totally have!” Sokka jumps in excitement. He tucks the journal under his arm and uses the other hand to drag Zuko over to his bed until they’re both sitting cross-legged on the mattress, face to face with each other. “Tell me about it. How long have you been writing? What got you into it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well…” Zuko scratches the back of his neck. “My mom and I would read plays together when I was little, and that was what got me into poetry. You know - sonnets and stuff.” Sokka nods, but the look in his eyes tells Zuko he doesn’t fully grasp the connection. “I tried writing some of my own for the first time back then, but I had to hide it, and it was really bad anyways. I stopped after my mom left and didn’t start back up again until after the war, as a way to cope, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka nods again, but there’s a deeper understanding in it this time, because he <em> does </em>know. “Yeah. I get it.” He sets his own journal down beside him. “So do I get to read any of your poems? It seems only fair since you’ve read some of mine.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wants to say yes, but how is he supposed to hand over a poem to Sokka knowing full well it’s <em> about him</em>? And pretty obviously about him, too.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko fumbles for something, anything, to say that could save him, but he brought this upon himself when he invaded Sokka’s privacy by reading <em> his </em> poems. Maybe Zuko can write a few new ones, ones that have absolutely nothing to do with Sokka. He can write about the war or Azula or his traumatic childhood or something. He’s done that before, he’s just never been happy with the results and no one had saved <em> his </em>poetry from the trash. </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe… maybe tomorrow?” Zuko finally manages.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka grins. “Yeah, okay. Tomorrow.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but then he just lets his shoulders drop and brings the journal back into his lap, flipping through the pages absentmindedly.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b><em>hope wasn’t meant for us</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> against all odds, we’ve seen the long war’s end </em>
</p><p>
  <em> but peace is something that we’ve never known. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> years back, i didn’t want to be your friend </em>
</p><p>
  <em> but now i wish i could call you my own. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> we dance through kingdoms as they’re built back up; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i dance around the way i feel for you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i hold your hands, warmer than a teacup </em>
</p><p>
  <em> bristling with the scent of something new. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> but someday soon, i’ll lose this hopeless fight - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> you’ll find someone the world would much prefer. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> doomed to be alone, i will sit and write </em>
</p><p>
  <em> a eulogy for what we never were, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> endlessly haunted by the question of </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘could the world ever mourn for us, my love?’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> by: Sokka </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>SOKKA</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Sokka lets the journal fall shut, staring at his own name on the cover. He’s so close - Zuko is sitting across from him and he complimented Sokka’s poetry and maybe Sokka is just interpreting Zuko’s body language to fit his own selfish desires, but he lets himself do something either very brave or very stupid. </p><p> </p><p>He looks up. “You really think I should give this to the person I wrote the poems about?” </p><p> </p><p>Zuko stiffens, though it’d hardly be noticeable to anyone who hasn’t spent as much time with him as Sokka has. He offers Sokka a genuine smile, but there’s a sadness behind it. The sort of deep pain that circles around Sokka’s chest, clutching his heart in its grasp, that’s fueled every poem he’s written. “Yes,” Zuko says. “I think they would love it. And if they don’t, you deserve someone better than them anyway.”</p><p> </p><p><em> I don’t deserve you either way</em>, Sokka thinks, but he can’t ignore this open invitation. If he passes up his chance to confess to Zuko now, he’ll never forgive himself.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka picks up the journal, holding it as if any wrong move will cause it to wither into a pile of dust, the words lost forever. Like they would have been if Zuko hadn’t saved them. Sokka supposes maybe he deserves to know for that alone.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka holds his arms out, his attempts to slow his heart futile. He just hopes it isn’t actually loud enough for Zuko to hear. “Here,” Sokka croaks out. “This is for you. Someone suggested I give it to you.” He wishes his voice had been steady enough to pull it off as smooth, but he thinks he just sounds desperate right now, though he isn’t sure what he’s desperate for. Zuko to reciprocate his feelings? Zuko to at least not let this ruin their friendship? Zuko to do anything at all besides stare at Sokka with wide eyes and an expression he can’t interpret?</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Zuko finally asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Who else would I say had fire lily eyes reflecting the midnight sun in the South Pole?” Sokka goes for a joke, but his voice cracks halfway through, so it isn’t super effective. “Who else danced with me at parties in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation and back home?” And then, because he’s feeling a little bolder now, he opens to the second page and sets the journal down in Zuko’s lap. “<em>wish you were mine </em>is an acrostic poem using your name, for La’s sake!”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s gaze falls down to the page Sokka had opened to and a look of understanding crosses his face. Gently, he closes the journal and sets it beside him. Before Sokka can say anything else (like an apology for accidentally falling in love with not only his best friend but also the <em> literal Fire Lord</em>), Zuko is leaning forward and capturing Sokka’s lips in a kiss. One of his hands comes up to cup Sokka’s cheek.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka makes a surprised noise, and then he’s kissing back, hands fisting into Zuko’s robes and pulling him closer and this is <em> so much better </em>than Sokka had imagined. He already knows he’s going to write a hundred poems in a futile attempt to describe what kissing Zuko feels like because there are no words in the world that could accurately illustrate the slew of emotions bubbling up inside Sokka. Nothing Sokka could ever write would do this justice.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Sokka’s. “I think,” he whispers, sounding almost out of breath, “the world could mourn a pair of star-crossed lovers doomed for destruction. <em>However</em>,” Zuko pulls back just enough so Sokka can really look at him, “those star-crossed lovers will not be us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Promise?” Sokka asks, voice impossibly soft.</p><p> </p><p>“I promise.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>i want to run away from myself (and come home to you)</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> there is a guilt in loving you </em>
</p><p>
  <em>           (in wishing i could call you mine) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> the guilt of past fires that were </em>
</p><p>
  <em> nothing but illusions of heat. the guilt </em>
</p><p>
  <em> of being raised in a world where </em>
</p><p>
  <em> your love is wrong. i hate the law </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and myself in the same breath, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> uncertain which of us is truly </em>
</p><p>
  <em> treacherous and shameful. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> there is a guilt in who i am </em>
</p><p>
  <em>           (both blood and brain) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> the guilt of a legacy i cannot escape </em>
</p><p>
  <em> nor do i deserve to wash my hands of all </em>
</p><p>
  <em> the wrongs my ancestors committed. the guilt </em>
</p><p>
  <em> of self-sabotage in the name of </em>
</p><p>
  <em> selflessness, not knowing how much of myself </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i can give before i, too, go up in flames. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> is there a guilt in loving you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>           (or was i always taught wrong?) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> the world would not approve of us, but i </em>
</p><p>
  <em> would risk it all to see you smile; blue-eyed </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ocean of laughter and intelligence. the guilt </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i’ve felt was wrong - you are everything </em>
</p><p>
  <em> good in the world. you deserve far more </em>
</p><p>
  <em> than i could ever offer. ocean-eyed </em>
</p><p>
  <em> in a snow white landscape where stars </em>
</p><p>
  <em> fall into our hands as the midnight sun </em>
</p><p>
  <em> paints you divine. suspended in this moment, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> we are both infinite and fleeting. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> both ageless as the sky and </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ephemeral as a snowflake against warm skin </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> by: Zuko</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>in case you're curious<br/>"star-crossed" is comprised of four quatrains<br/>"midnight in the south" is comprised of three haikus<br/>"wish you were mine" is an acrostic poem (which also ended up being a quatrain)<br/>"hope wasn't meant for us" is an Elizabethan/Shakespearean sonnet<br/>"i want to run away from myself (and come home to you)" is free verse</p><p>EDIT: i posted a <a href="https://zukkaclawthorne.tumblr.com/post/635157393042440192/deleted-poem-by-zuko-from-my-calamitous-love">deleted poem by zuko on tumblr</a> that was originally going to be the ending poem, got scrapped because i hated it, then got posted on tumblr bc i decided it wasn't actually terrible</p><p>you can find me on tumblr (@zukkaclawthorne) &amp; twitter (@H0LL0WKAIDAM)</p><p>feel free to leave kudos/a comment if you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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